


Lost in Yesterday

by energie_vie



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Drinking at the end, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Letters, Light Angst, M/M, Mention of Booker's wife and sons, Origin Story, POV Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Set in the first half of the 19th century, implied suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/energie_vie/pseuds/energie_vie
Summary: "It takes thirty-two years and one hundred and fifty-six letters until Sébastien is finally ready to join them. By that time his heart has shattered into a myriad tiny pieces. It's the first time in his very long life that Nicolò wholeheartedly loathes being right."---Sébastien dies for the first time in 1812. When Andy, Joe and Nicky find him, they warn him that going home is the worst idea, but he doesn't listen, so he only joins them in 1844, when the last of his family members dies. This is the story of the time in between, seen through Nicky’s eyes.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70





	Lost in Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to life after I kept repeatedly asking myself: how does Booker know where to find Andy, Joe and Nicky once he's ready to join them? They've already met, so they don't dream of each other anymore. My answer was letters. However, I didn't want to make this an epistolary fic, nor did I want to make it extra angsty and gloomy, so I "borrowed" Nicky’s voice.
> 
> Canon-wise, it's a blend between the comics and the movies: I kept the dreaming part, as well as Booker's three sons, but his back story and some exchanges are inspired from the comics. 
> 
> This is also the first time I've written something that doesn't feature Nile in any way and let me tell you, it's weird as hell 😆
> 
> Last but not least, credit for the title: Tame Impala song.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it and doing (admittedly limited) research for it!
> 
> P.S. I struggled a bit with the tags and although I've tried to keep the angst as light as possible, if I omitted tagging something, please let me know.

It takes them five weeks but they finally manage to track him down in Bavaria. He's obviously heading back home. Nicolò thinks this is the worst possible idea.

\---

Oddly enough, even though he's been alive for almost seven hundred and fifty years, Nicolò has never been to Munich before. Granted, the city is younger than him, though not by much. Andromache has, so she acts as guide, even though many decades have passed since her last visit.

The inn is on the right bank, not too far from the river. From the outside it looks quite shabby but once inside Nicolò is pleasantly surprised. It's clean and warm and it smells of firewood and home-cooked stew. The Frenchman chose well. They pay for two rooms but huddle together in Andromache's, waiting for nightfall. It's their best chance.

\---

Nicolò picks their table strategically: it's in the corner, overlooking the entire place, including the entrance and the stairs that lead to the rooms. It's also hidden in the shadows, so it gives them the opportunity to freely study the Frenchman while enjoying their drinks.

He's gone for the table closest to the fireplace and even though the other patrons seem to be comfortable enough, he's all bundled up and slightly hunched over, hands wrapped around his tankard.

'How the hell is he not sweating already?' Andromache mutters while fanning herself with her hand.

'Based on the circumstances of his death, I think it's safe to say he'll hate the cold for the rest of his existence,' Yusuf says.

'How long are we supposed to keep waiting?' she huffs.

Patience is not one of her strong suits and Nicolò chuckles gently. 'Let the man savour his drink first.'

'He could very well savour it in _our_ company,' she quips, drumming her fingers on the table.

'She's right, I say we go _now_ ,' Yusuf adds.

Nicolò shakes his head in defeat. Yusuf is just as impatient as Andromache. They all get up, grab their tankards and head to his table, sitting down without any sort of preamble.

The Frenchman jolts, obviously taken aback and lifts his eyes to study them intently. The blue is even more striking from up close.

'Can I help you?' he asks in slightly accented French.

'What's your name?' Yusuf blurts and Nicolò covers his face with his hand in mild exasperation.

The Frenchman narrows his eyes and purses his lips. 'Why do you want to know?'

'We saw you die,' Andromache says, making his eyes widen in apprehension. So much for a tactful approach.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he says defensively. 'You must have me mistaken for someone else.'

He looks like he's about to get up and leave, so Nicolò intervenes before it's too late.

'You were in Napoleon's army,' he says softly. 'Cold and hungry and tired. You deserted, didn't you? That's why they hanged you.'

The Frenchman now looks horrified and seconds away from fleeing, so Nicolò carries on in the same soft tone.

'We didn't mean to come across as hostile. We're just like you,' he murmurs, holding his gaze.

The Frenchman cocks his head to the left inquisitively, so Andromache pulls out the knife from her boot and drags it slowly across her left palm. The slash closes instantly and Nicolò watches in amusement as the Frenchman gasps and then stares at her unblinkingly with his mouth slightly open.

'Will you tell us your name now?' she asks.

'Sébastien Le Livre,' he replies quietly, then shakes his head as if to rearrange his thoughts.

'Nice to finally meet you,' Yusuf grins.

'I've dreamt of you,' Sébastien says, glossing over Yusuf's remark. 'Not very often and only flashes, but I've never dwelled on it too much. I thought I was losing my mind. I'm still not sure I'm not completely insane,' he sighs. 'I suppose you've been dreaming of me too and that's how you knew where to find me?'

'Handsome _and_ smart, I like him already,' Andromache deadpans, then promptly snickers when Sébastien blushes to the roots of his blonde hair. 'I'm Adrienne,' she continues. 'These are Nicolas and Joseph.'

'They're not your real names,' Sébastien mutters.

'How do you know?' she smirks slyly.

'What are the odds of four people who can't die being all from France?' he shrugs.

'Fair enough. Andromache. Yusuf. Nicolò.'

Sébastien's lips turn up in the smallest of smiles.

\---

Midnight finds them all in his and Yusuf's room. Sébastien has many questions but sadly, some of them just can't be answered. They're also the most important ones, the _how_ s and the _why_ s and the more Andromache says _I don't know_ the more frustrated Sébastien becomes.

'So then what's the point of an uncertain immortality?' he finally asks, obviously irritated.

Andromache sighs and is just about to open her mouth to reply when Nicolò beats her to it.

'To do good,' he says simply.

From the corner of his eye he sees Yusuf smile and then he feels his warm hand grabbing his own and squeezing lightly. Sébastien's eyes flick to their entwined fingers, lingering for a couple of moments. He's probably guessed what he and Yusuf are to each other, just like he's guessed that they would both follow Andromache to the end of the world and back again. He doesn't comment on it.

'Look, I know this is a lot to take in,' Yusuf says mildly, 'but I promise that the shock wears off after a while. And we'll always be here to talk about whatever goes through your mind.'

'Especially since we have _aaall_ the time in the world,' Andromache mutters sarcastically. 'Anyway, I don't know about you but I'm dead beat, so how about we call it a night and continue the conversation tomorrow? We'll also need to decide where we go next.'

'I'm leaving tomorrow morning,' Sébastien says. 'I'm going home.'

Andromache groans and raises her eyes towards the ceiling. 'You don't _have_ a home anymore.'

'What do you mean? Of course I do, I have a family back in Marseille.'

'Sébastien, this is a new life, you can't just go back to your old one, it doesn't work like that.'

'I don't care,' he mutters stubbornly. 'I have a wife and three sons, my youngest is barely ten. I can't abandon them.'

'So what, you're just going to waltz back home as if nothing's happened?' Yusuf asks incredulously. 'How are you going to explain that you've stopped aging?'

'I'll think of something,' he mumbles.

'Trust me, there's literally no way to hide what you've become,' Andromache grits through half-clenched teeth and it's clear as day to Nicolò that she's reached the end of her patience.

Sébastien seems to have lost most of his, too. His eyes narrow dangerously and for a split second Nicolò fears that he will raise his voice or say something rude or do something equally regrettable. Andromache's hand twitches nervously on her thigh, ready to reach for one of the many knives she usually carries on herself. Nicolò turns his gaze to Yusuf and the silent exchange that follows leads to them both shifting in their seats, ready to spring if necessary. The last thing they need is having to scrub the blood off the floor.

It turns out to be an unnecessary precaution. Sébastien takes a deep breath and when he finally speaks, his voice is light and calm.

'I can't express how much I appreciate the trouble you've gone through to find me, or the patience you've all shown in trying to explain things, as much as they _can_ be explained,' he says slowly. 'And while I do understand why you might disagree with my choice, in the end it's still _my_ choice and I'm afraid none of you has any say in the matter.'

Silence follows. Nicolò can't deny he's slightly impressed by Sébastien's skill in diffusing the tension. Soft-spoken hadn't been on the list of adjectives he would've used to describe him. Perhaps it's a direct result of being a father? Nicolò wouldn't know.

'Of course you also had to be eloquent,' Andy finally huffs discontentedly.

There's that small smile again, followed by a shrug and then Sébastien gets up.

'I _will_ join you, just not yet. If I'm still welcome, that is.'

Nicolò smiles, Yusuf nods and grins widely and Andromache rolls her eyes.

'I hope you're not in that much of a hurry so as to skip breakfast,' she says.

'No, I'm not,' Sébastien replies and heads for the door. 'I'll see you in the morning.'

\---

'My love, could you please stop for a little while? You're making me dizzy.'

Yusuf’s been pacing for the last ten minutes and there's no sign of him taking a break anytime soon.

'He's making a big mistake!'

'I know, my heart and you're as right now as you were the first twenty times you said it,' Nicolò murmurs teasingly.

'Don't tell me you don't agree!' Yusuf stops all of a sudden, frowning at Nicolò who is lounging on their bed, arms crossed behind his head and gazing at the ceiling.

'Of course I do.'

'Then how can you be so impassive?' 

'Because as much as it pains me, he's right: it's not our choice to make.'

'This can't end well,' Yusuf sighs, letting himself fall in one of the chairs by the window.

'I truly hope it turns out both you and I were wrong,' Nicky says, 'though I honestly doubt it. Now will you _please_ come to bed? I miss you.'

Yusuf's answering smile makes Nicolò blush. It's that perfect combination of tender, mischievous and seductive that is reserved just for him. Centuries may pass but Nicolò is convinced his love for this man will only grow until it consumes him like fire ravaging everything in its path.

'What are you thinking about?' Yusuf asks softly before lying down next to him, turning on his right side and placing his head on Nicolò's chest.

'That I'm very lucky to have found you,' comes the quiet reply, along with a hand that tangles itself in Yusuf’s curls. 'That I wouldn't have returned home anyway but you made that decision a lot easier. And that I'm selfishly glad neither of us had a wife and children to return to. How awful does that make me?'

'Moderately,' Yusuf teases, fingers playing with the laces of Nicolò's night shirt. 'But I understand what you mean,' he carries on in the same soft voice. 'I just hope he doesn't end up regretting it.'

'So do I,' Nicolò sighs and closes his eyes. 'So do I.'

\---

The instant Sébastien sits down at the table Andromache pushes a piece of paper and a pencil towards him.

'Write down your address.'

'Well, good morning to you too,' Sébastien smirks.

Both Nicolò and Yusuf reply to his greeting but Andromache just makes an impatient gesture with her hand.

'Why do you need my address?' he asks dubiously.

'Because you insist on being stubborn,' she replies cryptically.

'What she means is that we'd like to keep in touch,' Yusuf supplies helpfully, but Sébastien still looks a bit confused, so Nicolò chimes in to elaborate.

'We won't be staying in one place, so you will have no way to find us once you decide to join us. We thought we could write to each other.'

'How will I know where to send it?'

'Just reply to the address where it came from. We're not always on the go, sometimes we settle down for a couple of months, maybe a year or even two.'

Sébastien looks at him with wide eyes. He's still hesitating and Nicolò thinks it's because denial is the easiest path back to a normal life. However, in the back of his mind he _must_ know that sooner or later there will be no such thing as normality. A few moments later he finally picks up the pencil, scribbles down his address and pushes the paper towards Andromache. This time the small smile is weary and sad.

\---

It takes thirty-two years and one hundred and fifty-six letters until Sébastien is finally ready to join them. By that time his heart has shattered into a myriad tiny pieces. It's the first time in his very long life that Nicolò wholeheartedly loathes being right.

\---

The first letter they send is from Salzburg, two months after they say goodbye to Sébastien in Munich. It's short, barely half a page but Nicolò tries his best to find a balance between inquisitive and disinterested. Yusuf laughs when he crumples up the third sheet of paper and throws it into the fire.

'My soul, we're just checking up on him and letting him know where we are,' he says mildly.

'I know,' Nicolò sighs, staring blankly into the flames. 'Do you think there's a chance he won't reply?' he asks after a couple of moments of silence.

'I hadn't thought of that,' Yusuf mumbles, looking dismayed all of a sudden. 'We'll keep writing, he'll reply when he's ready,' he says determinedly. 'But he needs to know he can count on us.'

'You're right,' Nicolò mutters and grabs a new sheet of paper.

\---

Sébastien does write back. It's an even shorter letter than Nicolò's and quite curt and formal, but it's better than nothing.

_Dear Nicolas,_

_I'm glad to hear you are well and enjoying your stay in Salzburg. I arrived safely in Marseille six weeks ago. Madeleine and the children are very happy to have me back._

_My best wishes to you, Joseph and Adrienne!_

_S. Le Livre_

Andromache reads the letter and nods but doesn't say anything else. Yusuf, on the other hand, grins widely.

'We have a name,' he winks at Nicolò. ' _And_ from the very first letter. He's growing fond of us,' he chuckles.

Nicolò just smiles and hums vaguely. He hates it when he has to be fully honest with himself because what he usually discovers are strange feelings that he doesn't really know what to do with. The first time it happened was when Yusuf started calling him Nico all those centuries ago. After Jerusalem but before becoming lovers. The nickname kept stirring the butterflies in his stomach in a not-unpleasant way and being fully honest meant accepting he had fallen irrevocably in love with the man. Now it means realising that he's a little disappointed by Sébastien's laconic reply.

'You were expecting a longer letter, weren't you?' Yusuf asks gently and Nicolò isn't really surprised that his love reads him like an open book.

'Although illogical, yes,' he sighs.

'I can't believe I'm the one saying this because it's usually the other way around,' Yusuf genuinely giggles, 'but you have to be patient, my heart.'

Nicolò just rolls his eyes and purses his lips in mock-annoyance.

\---

Yusuf is right. As years go by the letters get slightly longer and Sébastien becomes slightly more willing to share details of his life. Madeleine is five years younger than him. They had married for love and struggled together to make ends meet. His sons' names are François, Guillaume and Jean-Pierre and whenever he mentions them Nicolò can actually _feel_ the fatherly pride and love soaking every word.

That's why the news of Guillaume's death in a duel in 1818 at the tender age of nineteen shakes Nicolò to the core. Andromache sighs tiredly and it holds the weight of all her six thousand five hundred years. Yusuf shakes his head sadly and mutters a curse under his breath and all three of them know that this is just the beginning.

\---

_My dear friends,_

_As time passes I find myself wondering more and more often whether I made the right choice all those years ago. Feel free to think or even utter out loud: "We told you so!". Afterwards I feel like punching myself because they're the most selfish thoughts I could be having. But **then** I go back and wonder if it hadn't been better if Madeleine had thought I had died somewhere in Russia. Perhaps she would have even believed I had died a hero, although an invading army is made up of anything but heroes._

_As it is, she loathes me. She loathes my hair that isn't greying, my skin that isn't wrinkling, my health that isn't declining. She has fallen ill. Consumption and the doctors say she doesn't have much longer. I'm doing everything I can to ease her suffering but there isn't a single day she doesn't tell me that I'm selfish for not sharing my gift with her. She refuses to understand it's not a gift, but a curse. François and Jean-Pierre don't understand either._

_I'm so very tired._

_Sébastien_

\---

Three years after Madeleine dies the three of them are in Athens, celebrating Greece's newly acquired independence.

'This century has barely started and there have already been more wars than I can count. I'm starting to dislike Europe more and more,' Andromache mutters irritatedly one day while the three of them are having breakfast.

'And this is only the beginning, if you ask me,' Yusuf says. 'I'm willing to bet the map will keep being redrawn for at least another fifty years.'

'Lovely!' she exclaims sarcastically. 'I think it's time we switched continents but first, a little holiday. How about Marseille?'

She says it casually, as if it's the first destination that comes to mind but both Nicolò and Yusuf know her too well to buy it.

'Any specific reason behind this suggestion that you'd like to share with us, Andromache?' Yusuf smirks, eyes twinkling naughtily.

'No, not really,' she shrugs but they both just stare at her dispassionately until she caves. 'Alright, fine. I was hoping we could grab Sébastien by the scruff of his neck and get our asses across the ocean.'

'He didn't say anything about joining us in his last letter.'

'I know, Nico, I read it too,' she says, rolling her eyes. 'But it's been three years since his wife died. His sons are grown men, there's no reason for him to linger around anymore.'

'Well, _we_ know that but I'm not so sure he'll agree.'

'It can't hurt to try,' Yusuf says lightly.

'Exactly. And if he won't be persuaded, then maybe we can go to Tripolitania. I'm sick of Europe!' Andromache exclaims with a flourish, signalling the end of the conversation.

\---

They haven't told Sébastien anything about their plans so Nicolò is not really surprised when they knock on his door and there's no answer. 

'I knew we should have written to let him know we're coming,' Nicolò grumbles after a couple of minutes of intense knocking.

Andromache rolls her eyes, lips pressed in a thin line and then tilts her head towards the street.

'Let's go back to the inn, we can try again tomorrow.'

'What if he's not even in town?' Nicolò asks defiantly, crossing his arms.

Meanwhile, Yusuf keeps knocking with an enviable stubbornness. Nicolò is just about to tell him that he might as well give up because it's obvious Sébastien isn't home when the man in question opens the door, looking completely out of breath. And then he freezes on the spot.

'Is this a mansion in disguise and you were in another wing?' Andromache quips but Sébastien still looks like he's seen a ghost.

'Surprise?' Yusuf asks grinning, poking him in the chest and managing to snap him out of his stupor.

'Hello,' he says weakly, extending one hand towards Yusuf who deliberately ignores it and pulls him into a big hug.

Sébastien looks gobsmacked, Andromache snickers and Nicolò just shakes his head. Surprise indeed.

\---

'You bind books?' Yusuf exclaims enthusiastically the moment he notices the working table in the corner of the room.

'I do some restoration as well but yes, mostly binding,' Sébastien replies with a small smile.

Yusuf has always been extremely talented at making people feel at ease, so he keeps asking questions. It's not just for Sébastien's sake, Nicolò can tell he's actually curious and very interested in the craft. He smiles gently when Sébastien's eyes light up in excitement as he explains the different types of binding and the materials he normally uses.

Their conversation flows effortlessly and just by looking at them Nicolò _knows_ they will one day be as thick as thieves. He can also vividly picture them getting into all sorts of trouble together. Judging by the look on Andromache's face, her thoughts are along the same lines.

'We were thinking of leaving Europe,' she cuts to the chase, interrupting their discussion. 'Come with us,' she adds, looking straight into Sébastien's eyes.

She's always been like that, no useless pleasantries, no beating about the bush. She calls it verbal efficiency. It's quite disconcerting if you're not used to it.

'I can't,' Sébastien murmurs after a full minute of silence.

'Why not? There's nothing keeping you here.'

She's also painfully blunt at times. Nicolò actually winces a little while Yusuf tries to soften it.

'She means-'

'My _sons_ are keeping me here,' Sébastien cuts him off, voice as sharp as a razor blade.

Suddenly, his eyes are narrowed to slits and his jaw is clenched as he fixes Andromache with a glare. For a split second Nicolò is back in the inn in Munich. He's honestly expecting her to reach for one of her knives and he wonders whether he should interfere or not. Instead, she shocks him with a reply in the softest of voices.

'They're not children anymore,' she says. 'My phrasing may have been extremely unfortunate but I'm nonetheless right.'

Sébastien's scowl melts like snow in the sun. He lets out a long sigh, then drags both hands across his face. He looks exhausted and defeated and much older than his fifty-nine years.

'I can't,' he finally whispers.

\---

A year later François drowns in the Mediterranean. To celebrate the conquest of Algiers he and his comrades get drunk and decide on some late night swimming. His body is never found.

\---

True to her word, Andromache turns her back on an excessively belligerent Europe, so the next decade is spent moving back and forth between Tunis and Morocco. 

Nicolò's letters now regularly include lengthy paragraphs written by Yusuf and somewhat shorter ones written by Andromache. Sébastien's letters get longer and although not outright emotional, it's clear to all three of them he's becoming more and more miserable. He's desperately hanging on to the remnants of his former life, crushing his own soul in the process. Although indirectly, it's still heartbreaking to witness.

\---

Of the two of them Joe has always been the gourmand. He's also been utterly in love with Lisbon ever since their first visit back in 1123, so the discovery of _pastéis de nata_ is the cherry on top that cements their decision to settle down for a few years. Andromache, on the other hand, is completely unimpressed by the city, so she jots down their address and promises to write.

'You're going to misplace it within the first month,' Nicolò smirks.

'Oh, shut up,' she lightly shoves his shoulder. 'But if I do, I'll meet you right in this spot, three years from today,' she winks and then disappears in the crowd.

\---

'What are you thinking about?' Nicolò murmurs.

Lisbon in July is unbearably hot, so much so that all afternoons tend to be extremely lazy. Currently, both he and Yusuf are naked and lying on the floor. The heat doesn't stop them from having sex but it's more hurried than usual and rarely involves the bed. The tiles do a good job of cooling them down.

'Mm. Sébastien, actually.'

'Should I be worried that you're thinking about another man not ten minutes after I came shouting your name?'

'Oh, absolutely,' Yusuf deadpans, shrieking when Nicolò starts tickling his ribs and scrambling to put some distance between them. 'I'm sorry, I was joking.'

'I'll remember this,' Nicolò threatens half-heartedly and then they both fall silent. 'What about Sébastien?' he asks after a while.

'Did you notice how little he talks about Jean-Pierre in his letters?'

'I did, actually. In some of them he doesn't mention him at all.'

'They're estranged, aren't they?' Yusuf asks quietly.

'I think so,' Nicolò sighs.

He's never had children so he can only imagine how hurtful this must be for Sébastien.

'This may sound horribly cynical but I can't help but wonder why he's even bothering anymore,' Yusuf says after a few moments of silence. 'But maybe that's just me being an insensitive jerk,' he adds as an afterthought.

'No, I wonder the same thing. Which makes me an insensitive jerk as well,' Nicolò chuckles humourlessly.

'I have no way of knowing,' Yusuf mutters slowly, 'but I think it must be very painful to see your child drift away from you.'

'I think so too,' Nicolò sighs. 'And I think a lot of time will need to pass until the pain becomes just a distant memory.'

'We'll do our best to help him numb it.'

\---

For the first time in over twenty years Sébastien takes too long to reply. It's been two months since they wrote to him and the silence is making Nicolò uneasy.

Yusuf keeps reassuring him that there's no reason to worry but Nicolò has overheard him more than once asking the mailman if he's positive there is no letter for Nicolas Toussaint. Andromache doesn't say anything but even she has cornered the poor mailman once or twice.

When Sébastien's letter does finally arrive, they have all come to expect the worst. Sadly, it bears bad news.

_My dearest friends,_

_I know too much time has passed since you wrote and I'm deeply sorry for taking so long to reply._

_The truth is, I don't know what day it is anymore. Or month. Or year, in all fairness. Time has become inconsequential and I wonder if either one of you came to this conclusion as quickly as I did or if it's just me and my despondent outlook on life._

_Jean-Pierre is ill. Lung cancer. The doctors told him that if he smokes, now would be a good moment to stop and he was absolutely furious. He has always hated tobacco with a passion, which is just another thing he hates about **me** , added to an extremely long and interminable list._

_Just like Madeleine he doesn't understand that I can't share this gift with him although believe me, I would die a thousand gruesome deaths if I knew it meant he gets another chance at living. Some days he begs and pleads and cries, others, he says I'm selfish and I don't love him enough, just like I never loved his mother._

_I know that I will lose him very soon and along with him, the last shred of light and hope. What is even the point of living anymore?_

_Sébastien_

The paper is all crumpled up, as if he had carried the letter with him for quite a while before remembering to mail it. His usually elegant and orderly script is merely a scrawl. It's the beginning of the end, they all know it, so without uttering a single word, they start packing. Four days later they're in Marseille. Three weeks later Jean-Pierre dies.

\---

The funeral is a sad affair in more ways than one. Apart from the four of them and the priest, there is no one else in attendance. Jean-Pierre had been a widower and he didn't have any children either.

Sébastien is stoic but his eyes are red and puffy, his hands are shaking and his breath smells of whiskey. Nicolò can't even begin to imagine what he's feeling.

\---

The house is exactly as he remembers, except slightly untidy. The working table is in disarray and there are a few empty bottles scattered throughout the room. Alcohol is the most deceptive friend one can make but Nicolò knows now is not the time to say anything about it. It's not his place, either and perhaps it will never be.

Sébastien collapses on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees and head held in his hands. He looks drained and lost and, despite his imposing build, very small. None of them seem to know what to do so they each find seats and wait in silence.

'I don't want to do this anymore,' Sébastien whispers after an indefinite amount of time.

His shoulders start shaking and his voice breaks when he tries to say the same thing again and Nicolò feels a lump form in his throat. He moves to sit to Sébastien's left at the same time Yusuf sits to his right and when they tentatively wrap their arms around him, he starts sobbing in earnest.

A long time passes until he manages to calm down and when that happens, he lifts his head slowly and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Andromache is standing in front of the sofa, holding four glasses.

'Where do you keep the alcohol?'

Sébastien sniffles loudly, then gets up and goes to another room. When he returns he's carrying two bottles of bourbon and one of vodka. Nicolò lifts an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. He's not much of a drinker and he'll probably be the first to pass out, but he's not going to refuse joining them either.

'Here's what we're going to do,' Andromache says in that voice that leaves no room for arguing. 'We're all going to get very drunk until we hopefully pass out. When we wake up we're going to figure out what to do with your earthly possessions, beginning with this house. And then we decide _when_ we're going to leave for America. Sounds good?'

'I don't know if I can do this,' Sébastien mumbles.

'Yes, you can. You have no other option. I'm sure by now you've convinced yourself you can't stay dead. Am I right?'

Sébastien seems to shrink under the weight of her stare and he just nods somewhat sheepishly.

'So, the only way now is forward,' she says. 'What do we start with, vodka or bourbon?'

'Vodka,' Nicolò quips, making Yusuf chuckle under his breath.

He truly hopes he passes out by the time they finish the bottle. He hates bourbon and so does Yusuf.

'One more thing,' Andromache says while filling the glasses. 'I think it's time for new names, since we're going to the United States. English ones. I'm tired of Adrienne, so I'm going to go with Andy. Short for Andrea.'

'Joe for me.'

'I want a shorter version too.'

'Of course, Nicky, darling,' Yusuf coos, making Nicolò grin widely.

'Sébastien,' Andromache asks, 'what would _you_ like us to call you?'

'Booker,' he says simply.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://energievie.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hi 😬💜


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